Territorial Behavior
by Gamebird
Summary: A prequel to Territorial Markings. This is basically porn without plot.


**Title: **Territorial Behavior  
**Characters:** Sylar, Peter Petrelli  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Warnings: **Graphic sexual content with mild, mostly consensual violence  
**Word count:** 1300  
**Setting: **Post-season 4, not that it matters  
**Summary: **Porn without plot.  
**Notes:** This is a prequel to the Territorial Markings drabble.

* * *

Sylar seized Peter's wrist, hanging onto it tightly despite Peter twisting and yanking hard enough to bruise. _Go ahead and hurt yourself, _Sylar thought pressed the offending limb to the mattress and gave up on trying to corral the other one. Instead, he reached down and positioned himself. If Peter were seriously trying to break free, this would be the time to do it. Not coincidentally, Peter paused in his struggle to pant against the sheets. Sylar lined himself up with the well-lubed hole, pushing in just enough to be sure of entry. Peter moaned softly. It was a lovely sound – Sylar adored the noises Peter made during sex. He wanted another one, so he leaned forward, easing a little deeper as he caressed his free hand over Peter's nearly-hairless chest.

"Mmm," Peter sighed.

Sylar grinned and took a firmer hold of Peter's wrist to brace himself. He curled his other hand into a claw, dragging his nails across the smooth skin. Surprised, Peter writhed under him, crying out and trying to get away from the unexpected pain. Sylar thrust into him so powerfully that he shoved Peter's lower half flush with the mattress. His hand went to Peter's throat.

"Nn-" Peter got out before Sylar choked it off.

"You don't get to tell me what to do. I've had enough of that out of Petrellis." This entire fight had started over a dispute about their position – not that Sylar minded, and he certainly wasn't getting the impression that Peter did, either.

Peter grabbed at the hand, but Sylar dug in his fingers threateningly. The neck was such a collection of delicate, vital structures. Would Peter really risk it? Sylar rammed into him, hard and steady, giving Peter something else to think about – a long, hard cock filling up his insides, opening and filling him thrust after thrust. Peter's hand fell away.

"Oh yes, you are mine." Sylar leaned forward and rubbed his face in Peter's silky hair, then licked along the back of one of his ears. He knew Peter hated that. Peter groaned and tried to wrench his head away. Sylar shifted the hand on his neck to Peter's lower jaw, putting him back in position so Sylar could nip at the thin cartilage of his ear. It was too much stimulation, which was exactly what Sylar wanted to give him. "And I will do what I want with you."

"Ah! Fuck you!" Peter kicked his legs, but with Sylar straddling him, it only served to wiggle him around on Sylar's dick. Sylar made an appreciative, purring chuckle at the motion, holding Peter's shoulder for balance. Peter got his head to the side and his teeth snicked together sharply as he tried to bite that hand. Sylar barely saw the motion in time to jerk his limb to safety. He shifted his weight back to his knees, finally releasing Peter's well-gripped wrist. He fucked Peter only shallowly as he tangled his fist into Peter's hair – an even more reliable way to hold him where Sylar wanted him. Hair pulling was something else Peter generally objected to, but it always turned him on once they got going. Sylar yanked and Peter cried out louder than before. It felt like the tight grip of Peter's sphincter literally loosened around Sylar's cock.

"Oh, you like that, do you?"

"Go fuck yourself! It hurts!" Peter's voice was deep and husky, though.

"But you're such a glutton for punishment, Peter." Sylar bent again so his free hand could stroke over Peter's chest, tweaking a nipple as he passed over it, feeling the angry ridges he'd left with his earlier raking. He rubbed fingertips across the marks firmly. Peter's breath left him in an excited huff. Sylar told him, "I think you get off on it." Sylar brought the man's head up by the roots of his hair, feeling Peter tremble under him. This time there was no doubt – Peter spread his legs. Sylar could feel them pressing against the inside of his knees. The submission ran all through Sylar, a tingle that connected brain to cock. It felt like he swelled inside of Peter's body.

Sylar put a hand down for balance, but kept the other in Peter's hair, arching him slightly. "Who do you belong to?" he demanded, shoving his entire engorged length into Peter once more.

"Nng. Fuck," Peter gasped at getting so much inside of him.

Sylar pulled nearly out, leaving only the very tip of his cock teasing at Peter's butthole. He twisted the hand in the man's hair, tightening his grip. "Who do you belong to?"

"Nng. You."

Sylar gave him two short, inch deep prods before pulling back out again. Peter mewled in frustration and tried to push back with his ass to socket Sylar within him again. Sylar denied him. "The _name!_" He yanked harder, viciously this time, pulling Peter's upper body off the mattress and getting an undignified squawk of pain mixed with a flurry of arm motion to take the pressure off his scalp.

"Sylar!" It came out sounding a lot more like an objection to the manhandling than the confession Sylar wanted to hear.

Sylar pushed in half way, waited a beat and pulled nearly out again. Peter whimpered and wagged his ass for more. "_Who_ do you belong to?" Sylar repeated for the third time. Peter was stubborn, but he liked that about him. It was a challenge.

Peter panted. He tried to push back, but Sylar only moved with him, not allowing Peter to fuck himself on him. Peter reached back and touched the wrist holding his hair. Sylar gave a warning tug and Peter quit. He squirmed, breathing faster. A moment later, his skin flushed and Sylar knew the surrender was coming. "Sylar," Peter said, relaxing – finally, at long last. "I belong to Sylar."

Sylar untangled his hand from Peter's hair and began to fuck the man long and hard, with full, body-jarring thrusts. Peter gripped the mattress, making fists in the sheets on both sides. When it seemed like Peter was nearly there, Sylar paused to grab his hair again, pulling his head to the side. He bit Peter's flesh, not caring if he broke the skin. Peter's legs pushed outward at his knees again and Peter gasped, quivering and whining when Sylar kept up the pressure for a few seconds, tugging and letting the skin slip slowly from between his teeth. By then, Peter's hips were jerking and his ass was clenching around Sylar's shaft. It nearly pushed Sylar over the edge to his own release, but not quite. Peter's moans were almost musical. Sylar let go of Peter's hair to follow that sound to its source, stroking over Adam's apple and bristle, fingers clenching slightly. Peter's voice pitched higher in response and anticipation. Sylar felt a flutter in his stomach. He was so close.

Sylar leaned in as he kept fucking, rubbing his face on Peter's hair again, then moving his hand to rake through the man's hair, fisting it wherever the fancy struck him. Aftershocks shuddered through Peter with every motion, and every shudder tingled through Sylar, dancing along his aroused nerves like Elle's electricity. Sylar dipped his head back to the spot on Peter's neck that he'd marked. "I want people to see it. I want them to know," Sylar murmured as his hips moved slowly. Any faster and he knew he'd pop. "Who owns you, Peter?"

"You do. Sylar." The answer was immediate now, even respectful.

A diabolical grin creased Sylar's face. He took the forelock of Peter's hair, arching him again to ride him like a horse, plowing into his property. Entirely uninhibited now, Peter called out loudly enough to satisfy Sylar's ego. He came to the passionate cries of _his_ Petrelli.


End file.
